


Freindship ~ or How Bingley Rescued Darcy from a Very Embarrassing Situation Indeed, and Earnt His Undying Gratitude.

by TillySnape



Series: Freindship and Revenge [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TillySnape/pseuds/TillySnape
Summary: The gossips of the Ton often wondered how on earth Charles Bingley, Cit, became the particular friend of haughty Fitzwilliam Darcy, heir to half of Derbyshire and grandson to the Earl of ___. The answer is somewhat undignified, and the debt not at all on the side expected.The title is a nod to Austen’s unpublished teenage work “Love and Freindship (sic)”, which is a parody of the romance novels of the time.
Series: Freindship and Revenge [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632325
Comments: 8
Kudos: 76





	Freindship ~ or How Bingley Rescued Darcy from a Very Embarrassing Situation Indeed, and Earnt His Undying Gratitude.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came about after I watched one of the documentaries about the making of the 1995 BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. Crispin Bonham-Carter mentions that he was apparently very nervous prior to first read through and took himself off to the toilet, where he heard someone in the adjoining stall, also “being very nervous”. It was Colin Firth and this was the first time they met each other. Not quite the image you want of leading men, but I did think it would make for quite an amusing beginning for Darcy and Bingley.
> 
> Not knowing what exactly what the public toilet situation was in the 1800s, I did a little research. It turns out that loos are a very interesting, if random, historical topic. There was literally no such thing as public lavatories in the UK prior to the Great Exhibition in 1851 (except when the Romans were here). Even then it took decades of campaigning, well into the following century, to install public facilities for the use of women in particular.
> 
> Anyway, after all that, the result is this... (sorry)

Darcy was going to kill Wickham, just as soon as these blasted cramps subsided. He was sure that whoreson had poisoned him.

He was eating at the home of Professor Beck, who he very much wished to convince to teach him Philosophy. Darcy’s father was admirer of Kant, under whom Beck had studied, and had specifically recommended the master to his son. He had always found it difficult to speak with his father on anything other than estate business. Both men were naturally guarded, and the elder Mr Darcy was easier with Wickham’s charm than his own son’s reserve. A fact Wickham knew, and exploited mercilessly. Thus, securing a place to study under Professor Beck was a deeply held ambition of Darcy’s since he had come up to Cambridge.

Unfortunately, Darcy had, as was his habit, managed to accidentally offend the Professor one night at The Eagle, and as a result the Professor was refusing to take him on as a student. His cousin, Viscount ___, had somehow contrived an invitation to dinner for him, but the Professor had no particular interest in connections or money. Darcy had struggled all evening to plead his case. Now it was hopeless. He was stuck in the Professor’s parlour in agony, not to mention in some danger of embarrassing himself completely. This would be an uncomfortable predicament for anyone, but for Darcy (who could not bear to be laughed at) it was anathema. Thankfully he was alone.

Then an impossibly happy puppy bounded into the room, blonde curls bouncing. “Hello old chap, are you quite all right?”

Darcy tried to give him the Fitzwilliam glare (being aristocratic, it was much more effective than the mere gentlemanly, though ancient, Darcy glare). His stomach gave a worrying lurch. He settled for asking, “And you are?”

“Charles Bingley, of Scarbourgh and London, at your service.”

Wonderful. A Cit.

“And you are Fitzwilliam Darcy. My sister has told me all about you.”

Even better. A Cit with a social climbing sister. His aunt, Lady Catherine, had specifically warned him about those.

“I saw you hobble in here and thought to offer my assistance.”

Darcy could have happily thrashed the blasted fellow, if only he felt less wretched.

“Truly, Sir, you look very ill. You must allow me to be of service to you.”

Darcy was becoming paler by the moment. He was almost afraid to speak, lest it lead to him casting up his accounts.

“Need... water closet” he managed to whisper.

“Not to worry old chap, we all get caught short from time to time.”

Darcy looked at him expectantly.

“The thing is, I’m not sure Beck has a water closet. I think you’ll have to go out to the privy.”

Sweat was beginning to roll down Darcy’s forehead, and his fashionably tight clothes were strangling him.

“Can’t make it.” He ground out.

“Dear Sir, you must. You cannot do it here!”

Darcy was beyond caring about the man’s provenance, and even about his irritating cheeriness. He had greater troubles.

“Help?” He squeaked, before collapsing on his knees, grasping at his stomach, which was now making some alarming sounds.

“I’ll find a chamber pot!”

Bingley ran off. Darcy didn’t know how long the man was gone but it felt like an age. He concentrated on his breathing, willing himself not to do, well, anything, until Mr Bingley returned. At long last, Bingley did return, and with a chamber pot in his hands. Darcy could have kissed him! He offered thanks to the Lord.

Then he retched.

Just in time, Mr Bingley thrust the chamber pot under Darcy’s mouth and caught the outcome.

“Is that it, old chap?” asked Bingley.

Darcy moaned. A wave of pain hit his body, centring on his abdomen. “Other end.” He was practically sobbing. All his pride was abandoned.

Bingley helped him up and onto the pot. “I’ll just make sure no one comes in here.” he commented, leaving the room and allowing Darcy to retain what little dignity he had left.

Some minutes later, he popped his head around the door and asked if Darcy was finished. Darcy said he thought he was for now, though he still felt like death. Mr Bingley, bless him, had arranged for a maid and a footman to give assistance, and called his carriage.

“Come man, you would be much better in your rooms. I will see you back to your college. I have already given Professor Beck your apologies, and the maid will clean up in here.”

Darcy mumbled something about offence.

“Oh, do not concern yourself on that score, the Professor has some affection for my father, and thus for me. He would not dare to be offended by a friend of mine.”

Between Bingley and the doorman, Darcy was brought to Bingley’s carriage.

“What luck,” Bingley told him, “that my father is visiting so that I have the use of it!”

The carriage brought them right to the porters’ lodge, and Mr Bingley hopped out to get aid. Darcy concentrated on staying upright on his seat, until Bingley returned with his valet. Together, they helped him across the quad, up the stairs, and into bed. There Mr Bingley left them, promising to return.

Darcy did not remember much of the following days, but pain and sleep took up much of them. Finally, he recovered.

Wickham had been by, full of laughter, to inquire about his important engagement. Darcy did not know what he had been given, but felt this was proof enough of Wickham’s guilt. Already sick of the vicious propensities Wickham had exhibited at Cambridge, this was the last straw for Darcy. He vowed that man would never have the living at Kympton if he could help it. For such a man to be a vicar was disgusting enough, but for Darcy to have to support him and listen to him preach each week would be insupportable.

He was sitting in his banyan, glad to be out of bed, when his valet came to ask if he was willing to admit a Mr Charles Bingley to his rooms. Darcy acquiesced. Bingley had been of great an assistance as Wickham had been a hindrance. He deserved Darcy’s gratitude, though of course they could not continue the acquaintance. They had not even been introduced.

Bingley bounded in, much as he had the other night, and before Darcy could say a word, exclaimed, “Do you still want to study under Professor Beck? He has said he will take you!”

Darcy spluttered in disbelief. “He will? How?!”

“I asked him.”

“You asked him?”

“Yes. He was happy to take on one of my friends.”

“Your friends?”

“I know we have only just met, but I have found you cannot help a fellow when he is sick without calling him a friend afterwards.”

Nor accept it, Darcy supposed. He was still somewhat unsure of Bingley (and of Bingley’s motives), but his influence with Professor Beck was too tempting to dismiss.

“I mean, Sir, that the Professor was not keen to teach me previously.”

“That is all forgot.”

“And the mess I made in his house?”

“I do not think he knew. I paid the maid for her discretion. But if he did know, that is forgot too.”

“Mr Bingley, I am in your debt.”

“Not at all. What are friends for?”

Darcy had not thought about this aspect of friendship before. In his experience, friends had been for him to assist, not the other way around. Friendship with Mr Bingley might prove to be quite refreshing.

Darcy very much enjoyed his tutorials with Professor Beck, but nothing gave him greater pleasure than sharing his learning with his father. As fate would have it, these conversations about philosophy were some of the last the two Darcy men ever had. Within months of his meeting Bingley, Darcy’s father had an aneurysm and Darcy became the new Master of Pemberley, and guardian of his sister Georgiana. With this further knowledge of how significant Bingley’s interference had been, Darcy’s debt grew in his mind. When Bingley’s own father passed away shortly afterwards, their friendship was strengthened by shared grief.

Though their beginning had not been auspicious, Darcy knew there was nothing he would not do to assist his greatest friend. He vowed to one day provide Bingley with as valuable an interference as he had provided Darcy. This vow Miss Bingley took advantage of some years later, to the detriment of Jane Bennet.


End file.
